


Piece of Mind

by paralleltonone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-16 00:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paralleltonone/pseuds/paralleltonone
Summary: “I can’t trust my own mind.” Bucky lived in a myriad of falsities and truths, memories and dreams. He can’t sort one from the other, but in order to find a man wiped out and disappeared decades ago, he’s going to have to live his past and make sense of the unsensible. He would have to rely on his mind to bring himself back, to find Bucky Barnes.





	1. One. Two. In. Out.

“I can’t trust my own mind.”

There was no goodbye after that. No hug. No other expression of departure. Just a smile and then, Bucky was back under, back into an icy sleep, and once again, not with Steve. He’d lost his best friend yet again.

“You really think you can make him better?” Steve asked the young woman at his side.

“It will be a challenge,” she began, tapping away at a touchscreen Steve couldn’t make heads or tail of, before she looked to him with a reassuring grin, “But I know I can.”

“Thank you, Shuri,” Steve returned the smile, feigning the feeling of reassurance she attempted to pass to him.

He knew little of the extent to which Bucky needed to be healed, but he knew that calling his case a challenge was probably underestimating the situation. Shuri was going to be in for a whirlwind. And Bucky too.

***

“So, you’re taking me out of sleep to put me back to sleep?”

“Well, the cryogenic freezing is more of a suspended animation than sleeping. You’re not conscious. I need your brain to be processing and thinking in order for this to work,” Shuri explained, pressing an electromagnetic tab against Bucky’s temple. “And it will work, I’m sure of it.”

“How will you know?”

“I will know when I finally have some data - asking you questions is getting us no where.”

“I'm sorry, I can’t-"

“Remember - I know,” Shuri finished. “But that’s why we’re doing this. We’re digging deep to try to find all those things that I know are in there.”

Another tab pressed against his head before she stepped away to the tray beside them. Bucky's shudder at the sight of the bright orange liquid Shuri prepped into an injection didn’t go unnoticed.

“It will only be a pinch, Sergeant Barnes.”

“I just really hate needles.”

“Just relax. It will be over before you can blink,” Shuri spoke softly, prepping his arm before she took care in pushing the needle into his subcutaneous muscle. “There. Now, just lay back, close your eyes, pretend you're on a faraway beach soaking up the sun,” she coaxed, helping him ease back onto the table.

"I hate the beach," Bucky remarked, but he followed her instructions anyway.

He opted to trade her beach for a comfortable king-sized bed, mattress made of clouds and pillows made of marshmallows. Sweetly scented and soft. What a heavenly combination. He let his eyes fall close when he felt the coolness of the table against his exposed shoulder. He tried to focus his thoughts on anything but the worry and anxiousness he felt. He took deep breaths, matching his breathing to the rhythm of the machine in the room. One. Two. In. Out. One. Two. In. Out. One.

***

Two. One. Two. One.

The sound of the device permeated his hearing as his vision set from blurs to the unmistakable design on the ceiling of Shuri’s lab. He was awake. Awake and he’d felt nothing, seen nothing, experienced nothing. A glance at Shuri nearby as she packed up the equipment told him that nothing happened.

“It didn’t work.”

Ever optimistic about her own work, she turned to him and smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Not this time, no. But it will next time.”

***

“How’s that, Buck? Am I clear now?”

In spite of his feelings, part of him could not hold back from smiling when the black disappeared from the computer screen and he was greeted by blue eyes and tufts of blond hair atop dark roots. On the other hand, the other part of him wasn't feeling the happiness he probably should have been feeling at that moment. He was getting to talk to - no, not just talk, but see - his best friend he hadn't seen or heard from in over a month. That may have not been long to most people, but when you'd fallen out of contact for over 70 years, you started to cherish the times you did get together and wanted more. Bucky eyes glossed over muscles outlined plainly through a shirt that he was sure was two sizes too small and he shook his head slightly at the sight. It might have fit old Steve perfectly. It’d been decades and he'd even spent two whole years with this Steve, but sometimes Bucky’s mind had to readjust all over again to the change. Sometimes, in his daydreams and in his thoughts, he saw Steve as he was. In his dreams, at times, his brain struggled to see him in all his 6'2", 220 pound, pack leader glory even though not much else about Steve had changed. As far as he could remember at least. Then again, his own memory tended to be the last thing he trusted.

“Crystal.”

“So, how ya been? How are things go-“

“It didn’t work,” Bucky interjected before Steve could even get his hopes up, his head dropping in upset.

He heard Steve sigh, but he didn't need to see him to know that he was disappointed. Bucky knew how much Steve wanted him to heal, wanted him to be better, wanted a miracle, wanted Bucky Barnes back as he’d been when he fell off that train. He felt guilty that he couldn’t give Steve everything he wanted and the condemnation of himself had been building with every failure of Shuri's experiment, clouding his brain for over a week now. Once. Then twice. Three times. A fourth and a fifth. Five tries with five nothings. Five times he'd been a letdown.

“It’ll work, Buck,” Steve began. “It’s just...things like this, they take time. But Shuri is the smartest person I’ve ever met. She knows what she’s doing - just trust her, okay?”

Bucky nodded, avoiding the gaze he knew was on the other end of the computer. Disappointment. Pity. Melancholy. Shame.

“Bucky, look at me,” Steve commanded and without hesitation, Bucky did as he was asked, meeting blue eyes missing something his brain tried to tell him should be there, but otherwise full of the unexpected: pride, care, concern. “It’s going to work. Okay?”

“Okay,” he responded, breaking eye contact yet again before the two of them fell into a long silence, which Bucky broke suddenly as he gazed back up to the other man. “Hey, remember when Mr. Downs gave me that old Monopoly game and me and my sisters were playing for almost a week before you ticked everybody off when you came over, read the directions and told us we were playing wrong?”

“I was trying to be helpful!” Steve laughed and it was infectionous enough that it even had Bucky laughing at the memory that’d emerged from seemingly out of no where.

"That you were not."

"Well, you never played wrong again."

"Not when you were there!"

Steve’s laughter slowly faded and he got quiet as the air between them took a serious tone.

“Buck,” he called lowly, “Do you remember them?”

Bucky wanted to lie. The lie was so much less embarrassing than the truth. Because the truth was no. He didn’t remember his sisters. He remembered the existence of them, but nothing else. He couldn’t remember their faces or their voices or their names. Even in his dreams, he could only conjure up blurs. Shapes with no details. Somewhere in his life, they’d been there and he’d known them, but no more. Not one but three sisters he couldn't remember. It was humiliating. It was painful.

“Rebecca, Frances and Bonnie,” Steve answered the question Bucky was too ashamed to ask aloud. “They were all younger than you. You really helped your dad out a lot with them after your mom died - you were about nine when that happened - she died during Bonnie’s birth. Then your dad a bit after high school and the girls...they went away. Work wasn’t steady for you and I couldn’t sell enough art to help. I remember you once said one of the few perks of going off was that you could send them your check, make sure they were well taken care of. You know, after you - after you were...picked.”

Bucky could hear Steve take his time to choose his words carefully. Bucky didn’t willingly go off to war. The war pulled him to it. He had no desire to enlist. He didn’t show up at five different recruitment centers in five different cities begging to be sent there. He did what was asked of all other men his age and was one of many on the receiving end of a notice in the mail that told him his fate. His marksmanship skills recognized during training solidified his continued service and the fact that he would never return to New York again. He remembered that much. The war, every battle, every fight, and every attack never left his memories as much as he wanted them to. Those always stayed, burning and aching in his mind. Of all things he forgot and that were taken from him, those never wiped.

Bucky buried his face in his arm against the office desk, disappearing from Steve’s view. “I should know that. I should know all of those things.”

Steve sighed, “You will, Buck. It’s not going to happen overnight.”

Bucky looked up then, “But you want it to.”

His bluntness caught Steve off-guard and his breathed hitched in his throat. Bucky could see him literally force back what he really wanted to say before opting for the unselfish response.

“I want you to get better, no matter how long it takes.”

**Such a bad liar, Captain.**

Bucky nodded in acknowledgment and he was sure his lack of belief in Steve’s words came across in the expression on his face, but Steve didn’t push the issue. In spite of his disbelief, the fact that Steve kept his true thoughts quiet still helped Bucky feel a little less guilty. Sometimes, lying was the better option.

***

One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.

“Just relax, Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri spoke in what he internally referred to as her ‘I’m about to stab you with a needle so keep calm’ tone.

He shut his eyes and flinched when the point touched his skin. The metal of the table further served as a reminder of a past he didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to think about, but he knew it was necessary. He had to do this. He had to help her figure out how to help him. Shuri tried to assuage the difficulty he experienced during the sessions with light conversation and jokes, music. But as soon as he was in the room, those memories began to cloud up his brain, clogging up sight and sound, nearly drowning out the machinery in the room and deafening his ears to the music. The only relief came in the fact that the serum never failed to send him into that state between waking and slumber. As he often did, he centered his thoughts on the one sound in the room that always fought a valiant battle against his thoughts - the machine beside him.

One. Two. One. _”Grab my hand!”_ Two. Snow. One. Blood. Two. Pain. One. _”We will make you stronger, better. You will be the new-“_ Two. “Breathe, Sergeant Barnes.” One. In. Two. Out. One. In. Two. Out...

 

_“Bucky! Open up!”_

_Opening his eyes, Bucky took a long pause at sight of the room. It was far too dark and too quiet to be the lab, even too cramped to be his dwelling near the border. If not for the presence of beds squeezed in, he would have thought it was a closet. He felt blindly at the space around, recoiling when his hand touched a wood railing and a lump. Letting his eyes adjust in the darkness, he spotted a slumbering child of no more than one tucked in a tiny crib that had probably seen better days, her face buried in a pillow. Across the room in a twin bed identical to his were two preschool-aged girls, deep in sleep as well. There was another rap against the window nearby followed by a loud whisper through the window’s screen. Looking to his left, he felt his heart stop._

_“Steve?”_

_In the flesh. Just as he was back then. He waved and when Bucky lifted his arm to return the greeting, he saw that he too was as he was back then. Bucky looked in almost disbelief at his arm. There was no metal, no wires, just muscles and bone._

_“Let me in! I gots stuff!”_

_Muscle memory took over and Bucky shimmied at the screen, pulling and tugging it in just the right places until he managed to free it from the window frame. He waited for Steve to climb through before he situated it back into place. The fact that they were all sleeping informed Bucky of a rough estimate of the time and let him know exactly why Steve was there, knocking at the window in the habit he formed after accidentally waking Bucky’s father with an expected knock on the door at nearly 6:30am on his day off. It wasn’t until Bucky swung his legs over the side of his bed and they didn’t reach the floor that the realization fully dawned on him. It was him back then too. Way back then. Almost as soon as bare feet hit the cool hardwood, he reached out and pulled Steve along, a finger going to his lips in a warning to remain quiet as they crept from the room. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to tackle breakfast and three kids under the age of five. Bucky peeked out of the room and into the dimness of the kitchen before tip-toeing even further down to the living space, shutting the bedroom door behind them. It was dark in the living area, but he confirmed what he thought: his father wasn’t there. His Murphy bed had been pushed against the wall, the room straightened up, his work shoes gone._

_“Buck, help.”_

_Knowing his father had left for work and they wouldn’t disturb him, Bucky took less caution in the carefulness of his steps as he returned to the kitchen where he spotted Steve in the middle of the room, taking several jumps in an attempt to reach the string on the light bulb there._

_“I got it,” Bucky said simply, reaching up and tugging at the string, illuminating the dark space._

_When the light was on, he was able to see Steve entirely and he was so...Steve. Scraggly, gawky Steve. Blond hair, blue eyes that didn’t change. Bucky’s memory hadn’t played him there. Steve, as he was then in the summer of 1926, looking all of five than the eight years he was._

_Bucky observed Steve at the kitchen table unloading a small paper bag. “What’s that?” He questioned._

_“Food,” Steve answered. “My ma made biscuits for all of us.”_

_Of course she had. If not for Sarah Rogers, Bucky was sure he and his sisters wouldn’t ever have a meal that didn’t come from a can. George Barnes was a great father. He worked hard to take care of his family. But that was largely all he did. Since his wife’s death, he was determined to keep their family together and under the same roof and that determination came with sacrifices. Bucky just wished that time at home with them wasn’t the sacrifice._

_Sometimes he was envious of Steve. He had a mother and that was all he had, but she still cooked for him, still had the occasional meal with him, still found time to dedicate to him. Maybe it was time that helped their situation - Steve’s father had been dead for nearly nine years already. Maybe it was the quantity - Steve was an only child and he wasn’t the last in line for his mother’s attention simply because he was the eldest. Maybe Steve just wasn’t the sacrifice that was made - he had on good account from the other that his mother would be awake past midnight sometimes to ensure that there was food available for the next day, that laundry was done, that the cleaning Steve couldn’t do was done._

_Bucky looked at the spread on the table of things Steve had taken from the apartment he shared with his mother - two kinds of jam, a few fruits, and cheese. Bucky’s brow furrowed at a couple of the items on the table._

_“Blackberries make your asthma get all out of control,” Bucky held up one of the jars of jam._

_“We don’t know that,” Steve retorted._

_“You were covered in bumps and couldn’t stop itching last time we ate them.”_

_“This is jam, Bucky. It’s not fruit.”_

_Bucky just stared at him in silence for a pause then placed the jar on a counter, putting it out of his reach. “They’re blackberries, Stevie.”_

_Bucky left the room, going to grab a bottle of milk. When he returned, he nearly dropped the bottle but composed himself enough to set it on the table only to rush to the same counter he’d just placed the blackberries on. With the expertise of someone who’d done it a million and a half times before, Steve had climbed up onto the counter and reached into the cabinet above it, carefully fetching five plates and putting them on the countertop._

_“Will you quit doing that? You are gonna fall and bust your head open,” Bucky helped Steve down._

_“You’re gonna catch me. I’ma be fine, Buck.”_

_“Yeah well, what if I can’t run fast enough and I don’t catch you?”_

_Steve looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown an extra head and he shook his head in disbelief, “You’re super fast and strong and you never let me fall before.”_

_Or be afraid without easing fears. Or be too cold or too hot without comfort. Or get hurt with no aid. Or be alone. Bucky had tried for so long to do all of those things._

_“I’m so sorry, Steve,” he whispered._

_“Sorry? No, you’re s’pposed to say-“_

_“I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you or warm you up. I - he...Bucky tried to stop them. He didn’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t remember you. Steve, I’m so sorry,” the adolescent ranted to his confused friend._

_“What - you’re Bucky and I’m not cold.”_

_“I’m so sorry, Stevie. You have to forgive him, he’s sorry...”_

 

“Sergeant Barnes, you may wake up now.”

One. Two. One. Two. Swirled pattern on the ceiling. One. Two. Low music. One. Back in Shuri’s lab.

“That was incredible, brother! Can you believe it worked?” Shuri exclaimed.

Bucky then placed the voice easing him awake with its owner before they spoke again, “Sergeant Barnes, are you all right?” T’Challa asked.

Bucky looked up at him and tried to speak, but his tongue felt heavy and his throat parched so he simply nodded. He was exhausted. He’d been sleeping, but not really. He was awake, but he’d been knocked out. It felt as if he’d been running a marathon, though, and all he wanted was his bed, all the water in the world and real sleep. And Steve. He needed to talk to Steve.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri came over to him, excitement etched all over her face.

“Bucky,” he mumbled hoarsely, declaring his preference that consistently went ignored.

“It worked! There are some kinks I think need to be worked out, but this is a great start. It worked!”

Bucky wished he could share in her excitement, but his confusion overshadowed any emotion he felt then. Except his exhaustion. Fuck, he was so tired.

“We will get you back to your room for rest.” T’Challa said, patting at his shoulder. “You are on the road to recovery, my friend.”

***

Nearly two months since they’d started these and Steve had finally gotten the hang of Shuri’s software and their video calls to the point where they no longer started with a black screen. He was already there, on camera as soon as the call connected. This time, though, things were different.

“You...” Bucky titled his head to the side, looking at the other.

“A beard, yes,” Steve said with a coyness Bucky hadn’t heard from him in quite a while. “Do you like it?”

“It’s different,” Bucky shrugged then smiled at him. “Looks good on you, though.”

“Thanks,” Steve returned his smile.

Bucky hadn’t told Steve the treatment was working. Ten sessions since the last so far with eight successes. If they could be called successes. They were hazy, vivid re-enactments. He didn’t dare call them dreams. He didn’t dare call them experiences. They were something else entirely. They were moments he lived, past events mostly with Steve. But he was a part of them now. He felt every emotion and every touch, heard every noise and every voice. Tasted, saw, smelled. Altered. They were strange and without fail, they always changed at the end, sending him or someone else who referred to him in third person into a mess of apologies and promises for better days that always confused adolescent Steve. He would try to tell Bucky what he was supposed to say, almost as if he was trying to get him back on a script. They were experiences, little nuggets of his life, until they became dreams. Perhaps, they were simply dreams all along that he’d somehow convinced himself were experiences.

**Barnes, I’m going to break it to you now: you’ve never had a birthday party in your life.**

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky began and saw a stunned expression cross Steve’s face in response. “What?”

“You haven’t called me Stevie since...”

“You blew up at me at Ebbets and you told me to stop treating you like a kid.”

“You remember that?”

“You told me...you said that you didn’t need me doing everything for you and you could do things on your own.” Bucky said pensively, the day returning back to him in a wave. “And then you told me to stop calling you ‘Stevie’ - that it was a dumb nickname you grew out of when you were...”

“Twelve.” They ended the trip down memory lane in unison. Steve looked so pitiful then, brows furrowed in apology and lips pursed to say he was sorry. This wasn’t a dream and Bucky wasn’t the one crying out apologies this time.

“I was so mean to you that day, Bucky.”

**It was over eighty years ago, Captain. You really don’t need to rehash this.**

“Steve, it’s okay.”

“You remember something and it’s that time I was an asshole to you just because I was jealous,” Steve said.

 **Jealous? Why was he jealous? Pull that day up, Barnes.** His brain played the moment back to him as Steve was storming away from the park. **Go back.** Steve in front of him, screaming out lungs he barely could pack enough air in to keep him going without medical help. **No, go further.** “Stevie-wait!” **A little more. Wait. Right there. Oh, I see. Good job, she is gorgeous, Barnes.** Green eyes and black hair, fitted in fashions right out of a magazine. **Hold on now, her too?** A redhead with dimpled cheeks she kept showing off through her perfect smile. **Him?** A tall, muscular blond, clad in a varsity sweater. **Oh, none of them? Fine, pan to the pipsqueak over there. Oh shit.**

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

 **Done what? Go back some more.** Bucky remembered the tail-end of his conversation with the dark-haired girl. With Ivette and her friends. The popular kids. Steve didn’t want to go with them. Bucky did. Wasn’t even invited to go with them. Bucky was. He’d told Steve he would find him later, offering to bring him some food. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have ditched him. Shouldn’t have made him think him and Ivette...no, Steve had to have known better. Bucky wasn’t interested in her.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said.

“Buck, it was a long time ago. Let’s just push it from our brains,” Steve said. “Bygones, right?”

Bucky nodded with another smile though he wasn’t sure if he was faking it or not before he stated, simply, “It’s been working.”

“I know,” Steve grinned. “T’Challa told me. I was wondering when you would.”

He took pause at that, having not realized they had conversations without him being there, especially conversations about him. He could feel himself internally panicking at the idea of the things they could be discussing, what T’Challa shared about his sessions, how much T’Challa knew about what came out, what Shuri told him. **I’m sure T’Challa has told him everything - he totally thinks you’ve gone absolutely bonkers, Barnes.** He needed to change the subject, set his brain on another track. He had questions he was sure only Steve could answer, things that might help him separate dreams from reality: did I have a 10th birthday party; did we start an alley fire and get arrested; did you hide a puppy under your bed for two weeks so you wouldn’t have to get rid of it even though you were allergic; did I break a guy’s nose for laughing at you; did you nearly die coming down the fire escape at 5:00am? So many important questions and so many answers needed about so much.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Who was Charles Ponzi and why was he on every newspaper?”

***

Music. One. Tabs. Two. One. Pinch. Two. Metal. One. Cold. Two. Dark. One. Two. In. One. Out. Two. In...

 

 _Lightning cracked across the New York sky. The clouds opened and let the rain fall free over an hour ago, the same way it’d been doing for almost a week now. Springtime. He hated it. It was pouring now, but he found shelter where he sat beneath the covered mausoleums, rows upon rows of plots, column after column of people who used to be, all buried within the walls. He stared at the marbled square before him and read the names over and over again, as if they would change the more he looked at them._ Winnifred Barnes. _She’d been there for what seemed like forever. He couldn’t remember her death. All he could remember was that she left one day and she didn’t come back._ George Barnes. _He was a new resident, placed in there just a week before. Bucky couldn’t remember his death either. He left. And he didn’t come back._

_Bucky heard the soft patter of shoes against the concrete and took a glance at them when they stopped next to him, part of him knowing who it was, but verifying anyway. He focused back to the plot ahead as Steve settled on the ground beside him. Steve reached out and gently laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly._

_“The engraving is nice,” he said after a long silence lingered between them._

_“Yeah, they did a good job,” Bucky responded in a tone drier than he’d intended, but happiness wasn’t coming easy in that moment. “The girls are going to Indiana...my aunt is gonna look after them.”_

_“Buck,” Steve looked at him in surprise, knowing Bucky vowed to keep their family together, keep them with him, no matter what, just as his father had done for years in spite of the struggle he endured. “You said you would - is that what you want? Are they good with that?”_

_“No,” he answered and he knew Steve understood despite the fact that he barely answered his inquiry._

_It wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what they wanted. But it was what they needed. He couldn’t care for them. Not alone. In the two weeks it’d taken for all of the arrangements to be made for a service and over the past week, Steve had been his right-hand helping him through it all. After all, he’d become somewhat of an expert in the field of dealing with the lost of a parent just five months before George’s accident. Through his own grief, he was doing everything he could to help Bucky cope with his, including helping him care for his sisters, three girls ages 11-14 who’d now lost both of their parents. Steve was an artist by hobby and every painting he’d created over the years was a treasure he never let go of. Until Bucky needed his help. He’d sold them all. Every one he had and held dear. He sold them because Bucky needed him to, and he worked in overdrive to paint more in quick succession to sell to support himself. Bucky couldn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t ask that of him even though he never had. Steve just did it. But Steve shouldn’t have to exert that kind of physical and emotional labor, and Bucky wasn’t sure his nerves or his heart could even take it._

_“You could find a job. Maybe join the Army, work with the mechanical stuff like your dad did. I can help out, keep selling my art-“_

_“I’m taking up more fights. Start earning enough to bring them back.”_

_“Oh...”_

_Bucky could hear the upset and displeasure even though Steve tried to mask his dislike of Bucky’s brushes with professional boxing. Bucky tried to make him more comfortable through teaching him how to box. There was also the added bonus of Steve finally learning how to throw a punch. He loved it, he enjoyed their trips to the boxing gym, loved watching Bucky train and had fun every practice session. That was up until the moment Bucky said he was aiming to do it professionally._

_“I thought you were liking the art classes with me.”_

_“Steve, we’re not even students there. It’s just fun to go with you, like when you come to the gym with me.”_

_“Well, then become a student there!” Steve said. “I’ve saved up enough for me to start next month and I can do the same for you.”_

_“Steve, you’ve done enough.”_

_“Not if you’re sending your sisters away, I haven’t.”_

_“This isn’t your problem.”_

_“If it’s your problem then it’s mine,” Steve said defiantly, slamming his hand down onto Bucky’s thigh. “End of the line, remember?”_

_Bucky sighed, shaking his head, “This isn’t-“_

_“It’s exactly the same,” he interjected, inching in closer against Bucky’s side with sparkling blue eyes locked on Bucky’s. “You’ve always looked out for me, and now it’s my turn to look out for you.”_

_Steve pressed a chaste kiss to Bucky’s shoulder before he rested his head there and the hand on his thigh rubbed gently. Bucky felt a sense of comfort at the kiss and the touch, a sense of calm, like it was supposed to happen. But still something felt off. No, something wasn’t right._

_“Buck, you okay?” Steve questioned with alarm._

_He felt like his skin was on fire. His lungs shut off and so did the air flowing through them. His brain ceased activity and all he could visualize in his head were repeating indications that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was off. This wasn’t right. The rain was getting heavier, the clouds widening, the lightning more powerful, the thunder stronger. All of it tuning out Steve and his frantic worry, his concern for the turn this event had taken, another turn off script._

_“Bucky, what did I do? Nobody’s here but us, nobody saw anything. Is that it? Bucky, calm down. Just breathe, Bucky.” In. Out. In..._

 

Out. Two. In. One. Out.

Bucky stared at the ceiling, slate blue eyes following every curve and curl of the pattern up there before Shuri was at his side. She checked his vitals, an uncharacteristic move for their sessions, but he must’ve looked out of sorts enough to warrant a need to check him for signs of life.

“Sergeant Barnes?” She checked his pulse. “I have something that can help you relax, if you need it. I just need you to answer me, squeeze my hand, anything.”

The machine was silent, no longer running. All that existed there now was a lingering quiet between them, questions asked but not answered.

“Bucky,” he finally spoke up after what seemed like an eternity. “Call me Bucky.”

Shuri nodded and Bucky could see the concern drawn over her face. Her worry only served to heighten his and he sighed, closing his eyes again. There was that great exhaustion he’d come to know so well. This was so much, almost too much. His body felt like it was weighing itself down, his chest was tight, he felt on the edge of tears and screams that he couldn’t let out. His only desire in that moment was to leave the lab and never return, but there was a tiny part of his brain still functioning enough to remind him how important it was that he stuck through it. Shuri was going to cure him, make it so Bucky could stay, and so that the other being in his brain would be the one to leave and never come back.

“How about if we take a day off,” Shuri suggested, but it was more of a command.

“No, I’m-“ He quickly shook his head, looking up at her.

“You’re getting overloaded. One day won’t hurt, Bucky.”

She patted his shoulder and stepped away to continue wrapping up their session, shutting machines and computers off. He wondered a lot about how much of his thought process Shuri was privy to, if the figments of his imagination were invisible to her or if she was just polite in not bringing them up to him. Did she know what was real and what was fiction? Could her machines figure that out? Confusion clouded his brain, trying to decipher where the experiences ended and where the dreams began. What if she couldn’t and this was all for naught? Winter was never going to leave.

***

“I’m tired of these calls,” Bucky blurted out to Steve three weeks later, shocking him into silence in the middle of his myriad of complaints about sharing a cramped underground cave with his fugitive roommates - “It’s literally underground, Buck and there is no room for half the things they try to do!” - and his desires to go to Washington and give Secretary Ross a piece of his mind. Bucky quickly clarified his words, “Of course I love talking to you, I just want to see you is all.”

“You’re seeing me right now,” Steve replied.

“Yeah, on a computer. It’s not the same. It’s been almost five months since you left me here and you haven’t visited like you keep saying you will, like you promised. If you’re not doing anything except arguing with your friends about their living habits in a fucking hole, why can’t you come here?” Bucky snapped and immediately regretted the outburst as soon as the words left his mouth.

 **Oooh Barnes, where’d that come from?** Bucky observed Steve’s look shift to shame and sadness as he dropped head and bit at his lower lip. Guilt was written all over his face and Bucky wondered for a moment if Shuri had a machine that could turn back time to prevent him from turning into a ball of rage at his best friend for no reason. **Good job, Barnes. You broke Captain America.**

“Computers are good too, though, Stevie...” Bucky tried, trying to backtrack from his rant. **Well, he kind of deserved it. He hasn’t kept his promise.** “Steve, I really didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just got frus-“

“No, Bucky. You’re right to be frustrated. I left you with total strangers and didn’t come back,” Steve said. “A week, I can make it there in a week.”

“Steve, forget I said anything. You don’t have to come here. You call regularly and check in with me. T’Challa and Shuri are some of the nicest people I’ve ever encountered - they’re good to me. You don’t have to rush here.”

“Polish promise you.”

“Stevie, you can’t make a Polish sausage promise without Polish sausage dogs to seal the deal. That’s the rules.”

“I will bring them when I come,” Steve grinned. “And you remembered.”

Bucky smiled upon realizing that he had remembered, “You know what I was thinking about the other day? Remember when you won that art contest that said you would get $1,000?”

“The one I won along with 49 other people? That was such a scam. One person drew a circle with two squares inside of it and won.”

“Yeah, but we ate real good that day,” Bucky added.

“Before or after that restaurant tried to make me eat my meal outside on the stoop?”

Okay so maybe that day wasn’t such a good memory to bring up for Steve, but Bucky remembered parts of that day that were magnificent for him.

“Remember how we took took our food and went up to that roof with the shaky ladder you always used to almost fall off of?”

Steve nodded, “Yeah. We used to go up there for hours, watch the drive-in.”

“We didn’t do much watching though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, our focus was usually elsewhere. On each other.”

Steve’s brows furrowed and Bucky watched as he tried to process what Bucky meant by his statement then realization hit. “I think you’re thinking of your time up there with someone else. We never - where would you even get that idea?”

Another tricked pulled. **How embarrassing.** He remembered that rooftop. He remembered how Katharine and Cary and Greta and Charlie and Ginger and Fred all so often went forgotten. He remembered lips brushing against lips. He remembered hands touching and gripping waist, back, arms, wherever they could land. He remembered the feeling of Steve under him, over him, against him. He remembered the sounds he made, low and raspy to avoid being heard by anyone by him. He remembered the “I love you”s and the hasty redressing. He remembered lies. None of it happened.

“Buck?”

“Yeah, I just...guess I’m getting things mixed up.”

“Well, when you remember, I’ll be waiting for you to spill the beans on who you were up there with,” Steve teased.

“Yeah,” Bucky forced a laugh.

**It was Steve. Barnes, you were up there with Steve. For hours. You kissed, you made-**

“A week?” Bucky clarified, the hope clear in his voice.

“A week. And I will keep my promise.”

***

In the interim, Bucky had two more sessions. As Bucky’s memories had worked their way into the year and events of 1942 the week before, Shuri spaced their sessions out even further, fearing that four times a week was overwhelming to him. After his first session of three days this week, she then worried that was too much and limited them to two times a week.

“Come, Sergeant Barnes, we must talk.”

Those were T’Challa’s only words after he arrived at the plot of land near the border he’d given Bucky. Bucky immediately stopped his work and pulled himself away from his gardening to go inside of his hut and freshen up. He followed T’Challa back to the palace and into a room where he sat in a chair opposite him. After the two of them were served tea and a variety of breads, T’Challa dismissed everyone in the room, including the Dora Milaje entrusted with his protection. **Wow. He must really trust you, Barnes. Or his sister’s abilities to cure you. Or, I guess, he’s just a fool.**

“Captain Rogers is on his way,” T’Challa started, pouring a cup of tea for each of them. “He shall arrive tomorrow. But I must ask, how are you feeling?”

Bucky swallowed and sighed a bit. **Truth. Lie. Truth. Or lie. Truth.** “A little strange.” **Ah, a halfway point. Good choice. You don’t sound completely full of shit, after all.** “It’s been a flood of memories, stuff I’d completely forgotten about, but some it...just doesn’t seem real sometimes.” **The Captain America stuff, right Barnes?**

T’Challa nodded, “Shuri tells me that you have been seeing much progress, but there are parts troubling you. You believe them to be fabrications.”

“Did she tell you what they were? What the memories were of?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know that they have to be unreal.”

“Is that so?” T’Challa said, sitting his mug down. “I engaged in battle with him twice as he tried to insure your safety. He took bullets and blasts he was not built to withstand in order keep you alive. You did not see him leave Wakanda when you were placed under our care - I did, Sergeant Barnes. I am not quite so convinced your memories are not real, my friend.”

“I talked to Steve,” Bucky said. “Kind of.” **And made a fool of yourself.** “He understood what I was hinting at, but he also said it never happened, that maybe I was thinking of someone else.”

“Do you believe you are twisting your memories? That there was another person in your past?”

 **Did either of you even have other friends? Didn’t you essentially ostracize yourself to be his friend?** “It’s possible. Someone else that I just cannot remember.”

“Sometimes when we lose things dearest to us, we try to push those memories aside. We try to forget them. Perhaps you have done the same to this other person,” T’Challa said, lifting his cup for another sip of tea.

Bucky nodded in agreement, “Perhaps.” **It was Steve. It was always Steve. _Will you shut up? It’s not Steve. Keep thinking, Buck._ Really? You’re back again?**

***

“Buck!”

Bucky looked up when he heard his voice and all but ran from the hay he was rolling straight into a shared embrace.

“You came!” Bucky squeezed his arm around him, afraid he would wake up on Shuri’s table in that moment and Steve would have disappeared if he let go.

“I Polish promised,” Steve teased.

“Did you bring them?”

“Yeah, but...they’re cold.” Steve remarked as he pulled back and reached into his bag, pulling out two foil wrapped hot dogs. “And smushed. Sorry.”

“I’m not even asking where you got them from, but,” Bucky shrugged, reaching over to take one from Steve’s hand, “A promise is a promise, and we have to shake on it...eat on it?”

Steve laughed and followed Bucky into his dwelling. It was simple, but it had everything Bucky needed: a bed, a little place to prepare food, a spot to relax and a small bathroom. It was also tucked away in one of the most peaceful spots of paradise Steve had ever seen. Quiet, calming, beautiful.

“Let’s get you settled,” Bucky said and took Steve’s bag, tossing it the five feet onto the foot of the bed. “There ya go.”

Steve shook his head in amusement before he settled in the sitting room with Bucky, digging into the cold food with swapped stories of healing and wellness, and life underground and secret rescues.

***

That night felt like old times. In the darkness of the room, they laid shoulder to shoulder, crammed together on a bed too small to fit them both. But they were together and that made it bearable.

“How long will you stay?”

“A few days. Sam and Nat are in a safe house outside of Beirut now. I gotta get back to them.”

“I understand,” Bucky nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

“It was a promise,” Steve smiled then turned over onto his side, looking at him almost as if he was trying to be sure he was really there.

**Maybe his mind plays tricks on him too.**

Bucky turned over onto his side so they could be face-to-face, his super soldier-sharpened vision able to make out much of Steve in spite of the dark: eyes still missing something that should have been there, the curve of his nose, the plump of his lips. Bucky offered him a smile and received one back through drooping eyes and tired muscles.

“Night, Buck,” Steve said, a yawn catching the tail-end of his statement.

“Night, Stevie...”

Bucky watched as his eyes fell closed entirely and he slowly drifted off to sleep. Bucky could hear his even breathing and see the slight rise and fall of his chest. In. Out. In.

Bucky watched him sleep until his own body began to succumb to the activities of the day. He whispered in his own state of semi-consciousness though he knew Steve wouldn’t hear it, “I really missed you...”

In. Out...

 

_”I missed you too,” Steve looked over to the other with a smile._

_Bucky thought about that smile for one year, four months and six days. He kept Steve’s image in his brain for one year, four months and six days. He stayed awake at night worrying about who was keeping him fed, clothed, protected for one year, four months and six days. Then he showed up and it was clear he no longer needed protection and Bucky had to wonder if he still even needed him. That was, until some twenty minutes before when Steve crept into his tent and curled against his side. Uniforms shed, all that was between the two of them were an inch of space, flimsy sheets and the unspoken fear of being caught._

_Leaning forward, Steve pressed his lips to his. Bucky couldn’t recall Steve ever kissing him that way. Raw, needy, full of every emotion they both had to keep bottled in for one year, four months and six days until they were together again. Easing atop Bucky, Steve didn’t break the kiss, but Bucky did when he tensed beneath him and let out a low yelp in surprise, being sure not to let them be heard._

_“Sorry,” Steve quickly apologized in a whisper. “Did I hurt you?”_

_“No, it’s just - you’re not so...gotta adjust...”_

_“You wanna be on top?”_

_“Maybe this time?” Bucky suggested._

_The shuffle of positions was almost just as bad, but made it clear the switch was probably the right way to do. Every movement made it clear Steve’s new body and his mind hadn’t quite met each other yet so it was probably best that he not fumble his way through making love to him right now. Not when Bucky wasn’t keen on waiting. He’d waited one year, four months and six days to be back with him. He’d missed him. “Ouch, you’re on my arm, Stevie.” Limbs flailing. “Steve, I don’t think you can squeeze under-” Falling onto the floor with a thud. Finally, Bucky was settled comfortably atop him and Steve looked just as content._

_“Okay,” Bucky exhaled. “You all right?”_

_Steve nodded, looking up at Bucky, eyes boring into him and for a moment, Bucky could only see Steve as he once was. As he remembered him one year, four months and six days ago. And as he was inside of him with Steve’s arms and legs locked around him, holding on as if Bucky would be gone from him again in an instant, and with his voice letting out soft whispers of Bucky’s name, it felt like it once was. One year, four months and six days ago. If only it could last._

***

Bucky didn’t mention the dream to Steve the next morning. It was a just dream. He didn’t have them much during his sleep, but when he did, his brain went to work making up all kinds of scenarios. It was why he struggled to trust Shuri’s process. She worked hard and it was all great and it was all real...until his dreams stepped in with a story of their own. So no, Bucky didn’t tell Steve about his dream nor did he tell him about the like re-enactments his orange serum-infused memory dredged up. Those events were largely mentioned jokingly or simply glossed over in favor of recollections of the Howling Commandos, breaks in battle filled with conversation of lives left back wherever home was, laughter that no doubt would have led the enemy right to them, drinking contests Steve always won, and attempts to learn new languages. Good times that Steve could share in.

“So, it’s really working?”

“T’Challa and Shuri think so,” Bucky said, picking a bean from the plant he was working on and tossing it into the basket Steve held.

“But I mean, if stuff is getting mixed up, is it really helping?”

“T’Challa doesn’t think I’m getting things mixed up.”

“He believes in his sister, but he also doesn’t really know us. The one you mentioned yesterday evening during our walk...” Steve said and Bucky looked up then. “You know that didn’t happen, right, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “I know.” **Of course it did. You two made out in the back of the theater plenty of times.** “But he thinks there was someone else, someone it’s too painful for me to remember so I’ve blocked them out and, I don’t know, replaced them.”

“But why would you replace them with me? It doesn’t make any sense. I saw the people you went out on dates with - they had nothing in common with me.”

“I don’t know. Maybe because, you know, your face is the only one from back then I can remember.” Bucky picked a few more beans then looked back at Steve, pausing as he asked, “Did I have other friends?”

“Well.”

**Could you take any longer to answer, Rogers? _Will you shut up? Let him think. He wouldn’t lie to us._**

“You did actually. You were pretty popular, Buck. It never made sense why you hung out with me. Lots of people thought that,” Steve said.

“I hung out with you because you were my friend.”

**And confidant. And duke in distress. And lover. _No, cut it. It wasn’t Steve._ It was Steve. Barnes knows it, you know it, I know and Steve knows it. _He would never lie to us, especially not now. It would be nice if it had been Steve. We like Steve - he’s good to us._ How good?**

“There was a guy from the neighborhood,” Steve said lowly after a moment. “You tried to hide it from people, but there was a guy. I think you loved him, but you guys couldn’t really be together because well, you know, you lived back then. That’s all I can say.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Can’t remember,” Steve hunched his shoulders, gaze moving from Bucky and out to stare at the sky covered by hillsides.

**_Okay, so maybe he would lie to us._ **

***

“There was a guy,” Bucky repeated to Shuri days later, once Steve was gone and he was back to his place on her table.

“Captain Rogers...”

“No. Another guy. Steve couldn’t tell me much about him or his name, but he existed.”

“So, this man. You think he is the one who should be in your memories?”

“In those memories, yes,” he said, knowing she knew exactly what he meant.

“Wow,” Shuri said in disbelief. “The fact that you’ve replaced him with the Captain makes sense. Your obvious subconscious attraction to Captain Rogers puts him in the place of your past lover, likely a place you wanted him all along-“

“Wait, now hold on-“

“This has done more than I anticipated! We have pulled out your subconscious. Not just your memories! This is amazing!” Shuri screeched in excitement before she was running off. “Brother!”

**Subconscious attraction? Please. _So now your assessment trumps that of an actual genius?_ Surprise James, you don’t need to be a genius to realize that ain’t his subconscious talking. _Ego, Winter, ego._ Only when I’m right. And I’m never wrong.**

***

“Buck, can we talk about something else?”

“Why? You’re the only person in the world who could possibly help me figure this out. I just need to know who was he, Steve?”

“I don’t remember!” Steve responded in exasperation, but even on a computer screen, he still avoided Bucky’s gaze.

“You’re lying!” Bucky screamed. “Why are you lying?”

“I don’t remember his name.”

**He was probably jealous of him too.**

“What did he look like? What’d he sound like? You have near perfect memory, Steve. I know you remember these things.”

**Better than near perfect. _Shh._**

“Why does it matter?”

“Just tell me. Please.”

“It wasn’t good or healthy, and you deserved so much better. Just forget about him. You’ve forgotten about him all these years, keep forgetting.”

Bucky almost couldn’t believe his ears. He stared at the screen and at the blond with the guilty eyes he couldn’t keep trained on Bucky.

“You...you brought me here. You left me with Shuri and T’Challa so I could get better and now, when I start to remember my past so Shuri can help me, you tell me to forget?”

“He’s not worth the pain of those memories.”

“Steve, the memories hurt anyway, especially because I can’t even place the right person in them.” Bucky shook his head in disbelief and annoyance, wanting nothing more than to end the conversation even though he was still without explanations. “I...I gotta go, Steve.”

“Buck, wait-“

The screen went black and the words “CONNECTION CLOSED” appeared on the screen for only a moment before Bucky exited out of the program entirely only to face Steve on the screen yet again.

_”I hate pictures too, but just one before you go. I need photographic evidence of this,” Bucky teased, poking at Steve’s beard. “Besides, who knows how soon you’ll be back. Cherish the moments, Steve. Cherish the moments.”_

_“Fine,” Steve agreed, chuckling softly at that bit of playfulness Bucky had back, that one he’d sorely missed from his best friend. “Just one.”_

Sparkling blues that used to shine brighter with his smile. Those never left Bucky’s memory. Even when he couldn’t place them, Steve’s eyes were engrained in his mind, the way they used to be, were supposed to be. They’d always brought him back to a warmer place, comfort, better days, home. **Ugh, will you stop gawking at him? _Winter._** Bucky really wished he’d paid attention when that little kid showed him how to change the background, but after the third step that started with “...and then, White Wolf,” he’d tuned her out.

**Well, you know, now that you hate Steve, maybe mystery man will finally show up. _We don’t hate Steve. It’s just frustration. He’s lying and we don’t know why._ Is he lying? _Oh okay, so now you’re on our side and believe in mystery man?_ Truth is stranger than fiction, James. _Alright Winter, whatever you say._ Hey, you haven’t been here long. I’ve had over 70 years to become an expert in him, I know more than you ever will.**

***

Shuri. One. Orange. Two. Flinch. One. Pinch. Two. Metal. One. In. Two. Out. One. In...

 

_Oh no. Not here. Not this place. Not this timeline. Backwards or forwards, either would be fine, but not here._

_Bucky cowered further into the corner, trying to ignore the drip from the pipe in his cell that carried on nonstop, all day and all night, every moment. No peace, no quiet, no solitude. Bucky was alone with no solitude - he was always there. In his head, screaming at him, telling him what to do, controlling him and his every action. Even when he wasn’t in charge, he made sure that Bucky knew he was there. He never stopped._

_His neck ached, his back ached, his head and his stomach and his side, his entire body ached and hurt wearing the weight of the left, the one that imbalanced his body and his brain, that made the decisions, that did things Bucky would never do. Bucky? Was that really his name? Yes, that was his name. His name was James “Bucky” Barnes. No matter what the people here called him. Everyone called him Bucky. Mostly because that was what he called him. Him...his name was...god, what was his name? The man with the stars and the stripes and sparkling eyes and a smile that lit up a world. His world. His name. Why couldn’t he remember his name?_

_“Put him back under. His work is done.”_

_Bucky squeezed his eyes shut in relief as he heard the words outside his holding area. He knew what that meant. He knew what came next. They never kept him out for long. Bucky was out once for two whole weeks when they had him assassinate some president whose name he couldn’t remember and truthfully, barely knew anything about. Except that he seemed a good man. They were all good people. That’s why Winter killed them. Good people trying to do good things. That wasn’t what they wanted to see. Bucky wanted to save them all. That was why they never kept him out long, the handlers. Because when they did, Winter took a rest and Bucky regained control. His brain started working again. The left didn’t control him so well anymore then. And when the left took a nap, the handlers couldn’t control Bucky so well anymore either. Still, Bucky welcomed these times. Being frozen. It hurt less than being awake._

_“But the girl...”_

_“Is she ready?”_

_“She’s been ready for some time. Marvelous capabilities.”_

_Silence. Steps. Another voice. Karpov. The man in charge._

_“Wipe him. Then get him to the Red Room.”_

_Please no. **Well, Barnes. Guess my beauty rest is over early.**_

***

“Do you think she knows?”

Bucky was still frustrated with Steve and they hadn’t yet returned to the conversation from over a week ago. In fact, Bucky had ignored Steve’s last two video calls, but Bucky knew he couldn’t him ignore him this time. His brain had been working overtime with in anxiousness to tell him after those memories returned. Steve had to know and mostly importantly, she needed to know too.

“No, I don’t think she does. She’s never said anything.”

“Well, go get her! I have to tell her!”

“Bucky, slow down. Relax. I will find a way to explain it to her.”

“She’s going to hate me. She’s been so nice to me since the incident with Stark. But she’s going to hate me now,” Bucky dropped his head in shame with a heavy sigh.

“Natasha is not going to hate you. She knows what happened to you. She knows it wasn’t your fault. Both you and her were victims, she knows that.”

“But Steve, I-“

“You did what they made you do.”

Bucky heard a voice off-screen before the blonde appeared beside Steve, stunning him as well from the sudden and stealthy intrusion into Steve’s little private space of their safe house.

“I heard you guys from the hall,” she explained.

“Natasha, I’m so sorry. I would have never...”

“I think we both were made to do things we would have never done,” she said. “So, I wasn’t just making those things up - they happened. When I saw you for the first time without a mask - in Washington - my brain kept trying to make me see you as...not that, not what we saw, kept telling me you were a good guy. Kinda hard to believe that when you’re shooting at me, you can imagine.” 

Natasha squeezed beside Steve, settling on the arm of his chair and Steve’s arm immediately began to rub circles at her lower back, the move not going unnoticed by Bucky. **Yeah, I saw that too, Barnes. _Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. They’re like brother and sister._ Except that they’re not.** Bucky shifted his focus elsewhere, trying to ignore the feeling he felt because it was unwarranted. **And unnecessary. What are you jealous for? _Maybe if you stop trying to manipulate his mind, he won’t be._**

Natasha continued, trying to rehash her own memories though her tone and expression were evidence of her struggle, “I remember in the beginning, you were harsh, rough. You didn’t talk except to give me commands. And I remember how one day, you were just different: you said my name, started speaking in this weird coded language, I think it was dance steps or defensive moves. You tried to make me go and they found out and I didn’t see you for a bit, but when you came back, you were the same as the first time we’d met. It was all confusing. I just thought I’d made it up.”

She might’ve been making it up, but her words matched his memories. Bucky wouldn’t have known if she was or not. Maybe the flashes of the past that Bucky’s brain flooded with were things he’d wanted to do. Save her, help her. Maybe her recollections of it were wishful thinking on her part too. Wanting to be saved, rescued. His current brain knew of her past. They’d had long discussions of it in native tongues in the days before Steve brought him to Wakanda - when he’d tried his hardest to convince Steve to let him stay with him, Sam and Natasha but Steve’s concern that people might find him and hurt him led them to relying on T’Challa. Maybe this all came from that. There was no way to truly know, and Bucky couldn’t fill in the missing blanks for her. All he could offer were apologies she accepted even without knowing why. Whatever her brain told her, whatever it said, made him deserving of it.

“You’re not a bad person, Bucky. No matter what they told you,” she said. “They made a monster who used you to do what they wanted of him, but he wasn’t you.”

 **A monster?! _Well, she’s not wrong._** Maybe Natasha was right. She had no reason to lie to him. She wasn’t holding back to keep from hurting him. She was a neutral party who confirmed details Bucky couldn’t explain. **Steve should take note, right Barnes? _Winter, will you please._**

***

Serum flowing through his body, Shuri pressed the tabs against his temples then paused and stared him.

“What?”

“You will tell me when you have had enough, right? If you no longer wish to do this.”

His brows furrowed as he looked up at her, trying to fight the sleep that was setting in, “Of course.”

“Because if this ever all becomes too much, I will stop the sessions. I’ll find another way to fix this.”

“I’m okay,” Bucky said.

No, he wasn’t. But he needed to get through this and see it to the end. He felt her touch to his shoulder before she was away to her computer.

Ceiling. In. Out. Pinch. One. Two. Dark. In. Out...

 

_He wasn’t in control. This wasn’t him. He was inside, screaming to be let out, suffocating, stuck under the weight of the left. Then he spotted her, the child who was far too young to be there, whose skills and talents and fierceness were greater than what he could believe. Widow. No, her name wasn’t Widow. That was what they called her. It wasn’t her name._

_Natalia. **Winter, be gentle. She’s a child.**_ **Eleven is hardly a child.**

_But it was another day of more of the same, another day of intimidating stares to make her move, bellowing orders when she didn’t. Grabbing ruby locks and slender wrists when she failed and shoving her back to the starting point. опять! Another day of the same of two weeks, but he couldn’t take it anymore. It seemed Winter couldn’t either. The left was tired, catnaps here and dozes there, getting longer and longer._

_“Sit,” he commanded, motioning to a chair._

_She looked up at him, green eyes wide and full of panic and fear, but a lingering hint of defiance._

_“I won’t tell you again,” he moved the chair closer, sliding it across the floor with his foot. “Sit.”_

_Scrambling from the floor, she moved to the chair. Naptime. **Would you look at that? Night night, Winter. Go for it, Bucky.** This was his chance._

_“Drink,” he pushed a cup of water to her lips which she gratefully accepted. “When you finish, get up and do it again. It’s like ballet - just six sets north, five east, another to the west and then the landing. Let’s go.” He could see the confusion on her face, but then he was giving her another order. “Natalia, get up.”_

_She looked stunned, almost too stunned to move. “My name...” It seemed foreign to her, as if it was all new to her. “You said it yesterday too.”_

_Still in slumber. Out cold._

_“Your name is Natalia,” he repeated. “Don’t be afraid.” Bucky squatted down in front of her. “You’ll be okay. Just remember what I taught you, remember the moves.”_

_Opening his hand, he held out a small black key and urged her to take it. Her brows furrowed in complete confusion, but she quickly took hold of the key and stuffed it into the side of her clothing, hiding it away._

_“Six doors that way,” She looked in the direction he’d motioned in, finally understanding the steps he’d been blurting out for the past two days. “Then make a right and past five doors then left and...”_

_“Run and don’t stop running.”_

_Tiny arms wrapped around his shoulders swiftly, and when she pulled back, her expression held a sudden realization._

_“Bucky!” She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Listen to me, we don’t have much time before they come and get you. They’re going to wipe you again, but Bucky, you have to know I don’t blame you. You’re going to try this again two more times over and it won’t work, but thank you. None of this is your fault.” Bucky looked up at her. It wasn’t Natalia. It was Natasha. Grown up and as he knew her now. As the person he’d tried to kill far too many times. “Please, know that. I don’t hate you. Steve doesn’t hate you...and you shouldn’t hate him either. Your life together, everything you see. Bucky, it’s-“ Natasha shook her head, her words becoming silent, air, just as he was bring separated from her._

_“Wait!” He screamed, but hands were on him, yanking him away and out of the room._

_Shackles and braced down. Pain. Screaming. Winter was waking. And the last image Bucky had was a little redhead girl far too young to be there._

***

“How long?”

“Almost two years - she ‘graduated’ when she was 13. He saw her go, made sure she got to her train,” Bucky spoke lowly.

“He?”

Bucky shook his head, not bothering to explain because even he couldn’t understand it. He didn’t expect T’Challa to.

“You seem very shaken. That troubles me. Perhaps I should have Shuri stop the program.”

“No!” Bucky lowered his voice almost quickly as he’d risen it, “She’s finally getting something to work with. She’s almost got the words. Just a little more.”

T’Challa sat pensive for a moment before he spoke again, “If this becomes too much, I will have her shut the program down. No exceptions.”

Bucky nodded, fearful this would be over before he could be fixed. Before he could be cured. He thought about those moments in flashes and dreams all the time. Why wouldn’t they show up now when he needed them to? Why wouldn’t the words just come. Give it up, Winter. Stop being an asshole.

***

“My brother is worried about you. He thinks I may be causing more harm than good.”

“You’re doing great,” Bucky disagreed. “It’ll all come to me and you’ll have what you need.”

Or something like it. Bucky couldn’t discern where the truth began and the lies ended. How was Shuri expected to sort through that and figure out what was what? Pick through decades of re-enactments that added nothing to experiences. Birthdays never actually celebrated, holidays never experienced, people never met, lips never kissed. Her orange serum gave her all of that, truths and falsehoods, when all she really needed were ten words and a process.

“I hope so,” Shuri offered a half-smile before she helped him lie back on the table.

Bucky flinched at the feel of needle going into his skin. He had yet to get used to that. He hadn’t even gotten used to the sound of Shuri’s machine yet. It still seeped into ears at a volume louder than it really was.

One. Two. One. Two. In. Out. One...

 

_As soon as his eyes opened, he was fearful. He couldn’t move, but he wasn’t yet trapped by him. He was still in control, still in charge. The door was right there. The exit. If only he could just._

_“Soldier.”_

_Bucky looked up at the sound, knowing he was being addressed even though - “Not my name.” He didn’t know his name, couldn’t remember. But he knew that wasn’t it. What was his name? What did he call him? The man with the stars and stripes and sparkling eyes. He knew his name. “My name is not Soldier,” he said with more defiance than before._

_That remark earned him a backhand slap to the face. It hurt. Just like the rest of him. His head, his neck, his back, his shoulder, his legs, his arms, everywhere ached. Pained by the left weighing down his body and mind and soul, pained by the beatings that seemed to go on forever, pained by sexual assaults that occurred far too often, pained by torture that had him begging for death. Everything ached and hurt, but he didn’t cry. He was long past that point. He wished he could say he was numb, but he felt it all. It just evoked no emotion anymore. He was waiting for the end. Anxiously waiting._

_He looked to his handler and saw then what he’d been hit across the jaw with. His eyes glossed over the red book and he knew what was next. From the sound of the first page turn, he was trying to fight. Even as he heard the first word. Longing. He took a deep breath, holding back his initial protest. Rusted. A shake of his head. Seventeen. He shook more vigorously. Daybreak. Please no. Furnace. Losing control. Nine. He was awake. Benign._ **Bye bye, Barnes.** _Homecoming. Trapped. One. Suffocating. Freight car._

_Ready to comply._

_**No, he’s not.** _

_The mission._

_**No, we can’t.** _

_Kill Captain America._

_Turning, there he was right in front of him. The mission. Bucky wanted to scream out, wanted to stop him. He was locked down, shut off. It was Mr. stars and stripes and sparkling eyes. The mission that Bucky wanted to stop, wanted to cancel. But he wasn’t listening. He never listened to Bucky._

_“Bucky?” The blond spoke, brows furrowed in disbelief and horror all at once and it was as if the world stood still._

_Winter was stilled by the mediator between them - holding him back and ceasing his movements, yelling at Bucky in desperation. **That’s you! It’s us! We’re Bucky! Answer him!** But they weren’t in control. They didn’t have the cards. He did._

**”Who the hell is Bucky?”**

_Without a second thought and ignoring pleas from them, a shot was fired. Straight through the heart. He froze and the red, white and blue circle crashed against the concrete before he slumped beside it._

_No. No. No. This wasn’t right._

_**Winter, don’t.** _

_Hovering above the blond writhing on the ground, Bucky watched him try to stand, try to move, try to get back up. It was a familiar move, but his body failed him this time. It was too much. Blood everywhere. So much blood Bucky’s vision was going red. But Winter’s was clear as he pressed the muzzle beside his temple._

_“Bucky, why? Please don’t, I - I love...”_

_Another shot. Straight to the head._

_Bucky wanted to scream out in reciprocation. Wanted to stop it, reverse time and bring him back. Wanted to die right there next to him, next to the man with the stars and the stripes and the sparkling eyes._

_Steve, I’m so sorry._

 

He hadn’t eased out of the trance that time, not like all the times before. He woke up, vocalizing as he wanted to while he was under. Shrieking, screeching, crying. His own sounds drowned out everything around him - the machine, Shuri, T’Challa, the lab assistants. They blinded his vision and his sense of touch - left him unable to see and feel them pining him down, Shuri pushing another needle into his skin, his body slowing to a stop until he was off again.

One.

***

He recognized this room. It was the first room he was in when they unfroze him. A recovery room. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, white shelves and bureaus, white sheets. The only color to the room was - **_someone cared enough to send us those?_ ** \- a vase of flowers. Bucky smiled at the sight, vivid hues of blue and purple that stood out in the room.

“Hey, you’re up.”

**And you should be dead. _Seriously, do you ever stop?_**

“Steve,” Bucky spoke though it was a little more than a rasp.

Steve was at his side in almost record time with a cup of ice water, holding the straw to his lips. “Here, drink.”

Bucky took a few sips then nudged the cup away as he lied back against the pillows. His eyes fell on Steve’s as the other sat beside his bed.

“T’Challa contacted me yesterday,” he started. “Told me what happened.”

“Lemme guess. I’m being exiled.”

Steve shook his head with a soft chuckle, “No...but he says you’re done. Shuri’s gonna have to work with what she’s got.” Steve sighed and reached over, his hand falling atop the vibranium replacement Shuri had somehow found time to draft even in the midst of all her work with his head. A prototype, but it worked all the same. “You wanna tell me about it?”

He killed you. You tried to tell me you loved me and he killed you.

“No, not really.”

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen. You know that.”

Bucky nodded because yes, he did. Steve was always willing to listen, even when he wasn’t so good about responding or giving Bucky answers when he wanted them. He felt the warmth against his left side disappear as Steve pulled his hand away, leaving him with a strange sense of cold and emptiness that radiated throughout his entire being.

“Those from you?” Bucky nodded towards the flowers.

“I tried to give you something nice to look at. Well, besides these gorgeous walls, of course,” he joked.

“And you,” Bucky said before his brain could catch up with his mouth to stop it.

 **Pull it back, Barnes. Don’t embarrass yourself. _Keep going. See where it goes._**.

Steve gave him a courteous smile and quickly shifted their conversation, “You hungry? I didn’t bring any dogs this time, but I’m sure there’s something equally delicious around here.”

“Better than cold Polish sausage hot dogs? I doubt it,” Bucky scoffed sarcastically. “But no, I’m not hungry. Thank you.” Bucky wasn’t sure he could eat anything in that moment with his stomach being as big of a mess of butterflies as it was, his brain wondering most of all why Steve was there. “So T’Challa called you and you just drop all your ‘hero-ing’ and rushed right over?” he smiled. “You know you didn’t have to do that, Steve.”

“You were so worked up they had to sedate you. They were worried and so was I when I heard. Stopping the program was for the best, just like I said before.”

**Oh, did he now? Maybe you’re not so bad after all, Rogers. _He did what?_**

“...you told T’Challa to stop it.”

“Bucky, you were so...you were saying things that weren’t true, but you were convinced they were. You would be so exhausted most of the time a whole day later that you could barely keep your eyes open when we spoke. You would be frantic and upset about the things you saw. Buck, I hated seeing you hurt like that.”

“Why wouldn’t you help me?”

“What?”

“That guy - why wouldn’t you tell me about him?”

“Bucky, just let it-”

“There’s something you don’t want me to know about him and I’m sure that’s why you really wanted Shuri to stop. Apparently, he was a massive part of my life, even bigger than you were it seems because there’s spaces in my memory for him to show up constantly. Over and over in my thoughts with you as his replacement. Maybe that’s my subconscious just being an asshole because you’re the one keeping him a big secret from me. All I see is you,” Bucky said, his upset and tone rising with nearly every word he spoke. “Only you. Against me, on me-“

“Buck.”

“Under me, in me.”

“Bucky!”

“It’s just you, Steve. So either mystery guy wasn’t so memorable or my subconscious is stronger than memory-”

“I didn’t want you to know that it’s me, Bucky!”

Bucky quieted and stared at Steve for a long moment, trying hard to process his statement, but that string of ten words had sent his brain haywire and it couldn’t seem to get it together.

“It’s me.” Steve quieted, his voice breaking as he spoke that time.

**What did I tell you?**

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, his mind finally starting to make sense of Steve’s words even though they made no sense.

“Wha - why would you - Steve, what?”

Bucky was anxious again, could feel his breathing increasing in pace, panic setting in. **He really had you going, Barnes - thinking you were the messed up one. _He lied to us._** Bucky thought back at every moment over the past several months when he’d been so sure his own mind was betraying him, feeding him falsities created by wishful thinking.

**It wasn’t your mind, Barnes. It was him. _Steve...lied to us?_ You okay there, James?**

“You lied to me. At a time when I relied on you more than anyone to help me stay sane, you lied to me?” Bucky sat up in bed, staring at Steve and hoping his words would change - that he’d take it all back.”

“Bucky, I swear to you I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Steve, you lied to me about our entire relationship!” Bucky screamed. “How could you do that to me?!”

A cloud of rage blanketed all of his senses, tuning out the world around and the voices within. Steve was standing at his bedside, frantically trying to relax him, ease him down. His words were muted by everything running through Bucky: the disbelief, the confusion, the anger. The sounds of Steve’s panic-stricken voice begging Bucky to lie back down, to stop screaming at him went unheard. Winter and James were in a whirlwind, words exchanged between them in shadows of Bucky’s emotions. Caught up in his own alarm, he was shouting words at Steve that his brain hadn’t even had time to process and commit to his memory, fighting against the hands that grabbed at him, missing the sights and sounds and feels of Shuri sending him off to slumber once again.

 

_”Bucky, wake up,” the voice was at a whisper, then Bucky heard them emit a sigh._

_Bucky squeezed his eyes shut tighter, avoiding whatever his surroundings were: a white walled room decorated with a single vase of flowers or a cell with a leaky pipe or even a tent shrouded in darkness. It could’ve been anything, but a peek told him it wasn’t. It was...home. It was their apartment. His and Steve’s. And the voice - it was Steve’s too._

_Bucky flinched when he felt a cool compress touch against his chest. No metal there, etching into his nervous system. Just skin. Damp fabric covered his knuckles, rubbing gentle circles against the pained flesh. So much pain. And his head was pounding._

_“Steve?” Bucky called out._

_“I’m here,” Steve responded and then he was within Bucky’s eye-line._

_No. This wasn’t right._

_It was Steve. The same Steve that sat across from him in the hospital. Former stars and stripes. Tired eyes that lacked their glint. Muscles and beard and everything he didn’t have in this apartment. Their apartment. Their home. They had a home together. Him and Steve._

_“You took some bad hits tonight, Buck,” he said._

_Bucky remembered this. He’d gotten his ass whipped in the ring that night. But he’d won. Busted and bruised and broken all over. But he’d won. They would eat dinner and keep some amenities for a little bit, at least, live without being hungry or cold._

_“I won.”_

_“That’s not the point, Buck. You don’t get to nearly die and then say, ‘but I made it this time.’”_

_Bucky chuckled, “I see the humor is lost on you with that one.”_

_“That’s a low blow, those things aren’t my fault.”_

_“No, your illnesses are not, but you challenging every guy who says something sideways is. At least, I’m making money while getting knocked out.”_

_Steve sighed, his irritation evident. “You know...you really don’t have to do this.”_

_Steve grabbed the roll of bandages and started to wrap some around Bucky’s hand, covering his knuckles. This fight was familiar. It was like the one a few days before it and a few days before that one and so forth. Steve’s art didn’t bring in a lot of money and being in school and his projects for that left him with little time to produce more for sale. Bucky did what he had to to take care of them, even if Steve didn’t like it._

_“And then what, Steve? We starve or - Wait, why am I even having this conversation with you? You’re not real, this isn’t real, none of it matters, we hashed this out! It’s over!”_

_Bucky stopped suddenly when there was a knock at the door. Envelopes slipped beneath the door. Then it all came flooding back to him. Shit. He sat up slowly as he Steve stood and went to the door._

_“I’ll get it,” Steve mumbled. “Also, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you really need to get back on tra-”_

_Bucky could have narrated Steve’s every movement he remembered this moment so well. He would drop everything but that letter, the one addressed to Bucky that gave him ten days - ten days from two days ago to report to Wisconsin for training. Every bill and sales ad hit the floor. Steve would be on the verge of tears, but hold back, keeping them locked in, until he finished reading the letter. There they go, heavy waterworks. Bucky should have snatched it away to read it himself because that’s how it happened, but he stayed put, altering the events to require Steve to come to where he was on the sofa. Steve was back on the other side of the room in half a blink with his arms locked around him._

_Bucky fell into his embrace. This was definitely not right. Steve was too different this time. Too tall. Too big. The bristle of hair against his cheek was all wrong. The sudden appearance of the metal arm wrapped around Steve. No, this was entirely all wrong. Steve pulled back, setting his eyes on Bucky’s, and Bucky was certain he saw a flash of that trademark sparkle for only a second. That was wrong too. His eyes were always supposed to shine, carry all the goodness and light in the world like Bucky always thought they did. This was not right._

_“So, this means that I can enlist now,” Steve declared, his cries turning to a sniffle as he rehashed a former conversation where that goodness and need to protect overshadowed all of Steve’s common sense._

_“No, it doesn’t.”_

_“Bucky.”_

_“No, Steve. They’re not going to let you in anyway.”_

_“Well, I don’t have to tell them-“_

_“First of all, that’s illegal. Second, they’re going to examine you. I know you want to do something, but there’s so much you can do right here.” Steve’s glare said everything his words didn’t and Bucky sighed. “I’ll be back for you,” Bucky promised._

_“What happens if after this training, they decide to ship you out?”_

_“Nothing happens,” he whispered. “You know that I’ll be back for you. You know that.”_

_A pause. Bucky was off script again. And Steve didn’t attempt to angle him back on that time._

_“Seven decades is gonna be a long time to wait,” Steve said._

_“But we’ll make our way back to one another. That’s what matters, right?”_

_“Don’t forget me.”_

_Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let the words drop. No sound came out. He couldn’t lie to Steve._

***

He awoke to white walls again. White ceiling. White floors. Fresh flowers. All yellow this time. Thoughts of their home. It wasn’t much, but he and Steve had a home together. They had a life together. Everything either needed they had in one another. Hydra took that from him and Steve didn’t give it back.

Steve. Where was Steve?

Bucky sat up in bed and looked around the room, his head aching as scattered memories played through his head. He remembered the fights to keep him held down, varied tones telling him to breathe, being sedated again. And again. Steve was there when those moments happened, all of them. Maybe he shouldn’t have been then since his outbursts were fueled by his anger towards Steve, but Bucky wanted - no needed - him there now. He needed answers. Everything was coming back in a rush, nearly overwhelming him.

Mornings in a cramped Brooklyn apartment in an even tinier bed, kisses and hushed conversation about tomorrows and the afters, after Steve finished art school, after Bucky got his sisters back, after the war, after things changed and they could have a future together that didn’t require playing pretend outside the four walls of their home. Mornings laying around for far too long until Steve was running late for class, having to rush out of the house with quick pecks Bucky could never savor the moment of and a mumbled “Love you, Buck.” Mornings where Steve would return just to tell him how much he meant to him if he left without uttering those three words. Every time without fail.

There was love there. So much love he felt like his heart would burst out of his chest sometimes. Even in the bad times.

Fights over Bucky’s boxing. Fights that Bucky knew had little to do with the actual fighting and more to do with Steve’s desire to take care of him the same way he did for Steve, to provide for them in a way that didn’t require Bucky taking a series of punches to his face. Fights that only started after he and Steve were witnesses to the match that left one of Bucky’s gym buddies dead. Fights when Steve realized there might come a time when Bucky would be in that position and he couldn’t help him, couldn’t save him. Fights because Steve thought there had to be a better way for them and he could make things better. Him and his art. In spite of rejection letter after rejection letter from this comic and that illustrator, Steve knew he could make it better for them. Wanted to make it better for them.

Everything was out of love. That was what it all came down to. Every sleepless night to finish splashing paint on a canvas for $15, $12, $10. Every minute and dollar in a ring missed and traded for a seat next to a hospital because of a cough that went on far longer than it should have. Every meal skipped for the other to eat. Every defensive retort and back alley fight to defend a secret that would have otherwise ruined what little they had. Every argument. Every kiss goodbye. Every touch in a too small bed. Every tear shed in against a comforting shoulder. Every promise made. Every vow.

 

_”Did you not think we’d find out?”_

_Bucky bit his lip at the question, but when Dugan’s laugh trailed his own statement, he felt relief wash over him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad._

_“Or didya think we’d be bothered by it? Hell, I can’t think of two people more perfect for one another,” he added, earning murmurs of agreement from the other men around the campfire._

_It’d finally happened. After nearly a year of sneaking affections when no one was looking, nights in slumber bags too close to be friendly, and creeping in and out of tents when they were at camp, they had been found out._

_“How long?” Falsworth asked, an amiable sense of curiosity to his words._

_Bucky looked at Steve then. How long had it actually been since it was official? Show long had it been since they stopped holding in and hiding their feelings from one another? Sarah was dying then, he remembered. Steve was so afraid of being alone. Bucky had to tell him, show him, he would never be alone._

_“Almost eight years.”_

_“So back when you mentioned having somebody back home before Azzano...” Morita turned to Bucky._

_“Me,” Steve answered for him, a sense of pride at the thought of being claimed by Bucky even outside the solitude of one another._

_“It works.” Jones teased, “I doubt there’s anyone else who can talk the Captain out of sending us to sudden death and make him rethink his plans simply by saying his name very sternly.”_

_A round of laughter lit up next to the fire at that, but Dernier brought the mood to quiet with a mention of Bucky’s words over a year before._

_“I understand why you said you would never be married,” Dernier recalled. “You cannot.”_

_Crickets chirped and the fire crackled for one beat. Two beats. A hundred beats. A thousand beats, all while the flames got weaker._

_“Eight years is longer than most married couples I have ever known,” Falsworth spoke._

_“Shame you can’t.” Morita said before Dugan added to his words._

_Dugan shook his head as he poke at the fire a bit to prevent it from fading further, “It ain’t right either.”_

_Marriage. He and Steve had never discussed that. There was no need for them to. They couldn’t enjoy it, couldn’t reap whatever benefits were derived from it, couldn’t celebrate it, so it wasn’t part of their plan. Bucky would’ve married Steve if he could though. He would have been down on bended knee with a proposal to rival every love scene in every stolen rooftop film. He would have gone broke to get Steve the biggest ring money could buy, that sparkled nearly as bright as his eyes. He would have declared, in front all who watched them at an alter, that he was in love with Steve Rogers and he was making him his. He would have kept every vow made, every vow he already kept without a piece of paper setting then in stone: sickness and health, for richer or for poorer, til death would split them. Bucky would have married Steve without a second thought. If he could._

_“I can marry you,” Jones said. “I was a junior pastor at my church in Macon.”_

_“Jones, is there anything you can’t do?” Falsworth laughed._

_“Yes,” Steve spoke up though his own laughs. “He can’t marry us.”_

_“No, I can’t do it legally. But-”_

_“10, 20, 30 years from now - however long it takes - you can say you were pioneers!” Falsworth finished._

_They wouldn’t make it 10 years or 20 or 30, and even if they had, it wouldn’t have made much a difference because little would have changed. But still, that night in August 1944, led by a makeshift officiant, co-signed by four witnesses, and fueled by a mix of alcohol, boredom and a ridiculous belief it would matter at some point, Bucky and Steve were married. There was no Hollywood proposal, no shimmering rock, just vows exchanged. Bucky was sure that Gabe made up most of them, but what mattered was the sentiment._

_When the night had quieted down and all the others were asleep, Bucky took Steve’s hand and stole him away from the mess of sleeping bags. Hand-in-hand, they walked slightly further in the forest, being careful not to go far, but far enough where they truly felt alone. For the first time since their “ceremony” ended, they kissed, Bucky’s lips parting and his tongue lacing with Steve’s. Bucky broke their lip-locking, though, when he felt Steve smile into the kiss._

_“What?”_

_Steve only smiled more then, leaning in and pressing his forehead to Bucky’s, “We’re married.”_

_Bucky chuckled and nodded, “That we are.”_

_“You know,” Steve pecked at his lips. “I will marry you, truly marry you, even if we have to wait a hundred years.”_

_“I think we both know you’ll be waiting that hundred years without me,” Bucky whispered._

_Even in the dark, he could see the sadness cross Steve’s face. There wasn’t much that Steve was able to share with Bucky about the experiment that made him what Bucky saw before him then. There was little Steve really knew or understood. But they both understood one thing: their forevers wouldn’t be the same, they wouldn’t even be close. Steve dropped his head to Bucky’s shoulder then, leaning into him. On instinct, Bucky’s arms wrapped around Steve’s middle and his cheek brushed against Steve’s._

_“I will have nothing when you’re gone. There’s no me without you,” Steve whispered to him._

_When. Not if. Not in the future. But when._

_Bucky’s forever came to its end within another year. Within another year, he was gone - off a train, into a ravine, taken hostage and wiped from his own memory. Bucky Barnes was gone and took Steve Rogers with him. The world would have Captain America nearly 70 years later in the shell of Steve that Bucky left behind, but they would never have Steve Rogers. Never Steve because Steve Rogers went off a train, into a ravine and missing in action._

 

It was his fault. The loss of the sparkle was his fault.

He tried to swallow back his tears, but his efforts were futile. Resting back against the white pillows in the white walled-room with its white shelves and floors, he shifted his focus to the only burst of color in the room. Yellow. The color of friendship. His chest tightened the heavier his sobs got, the pain radiating throughout his entire chest cavity. Where was Steve?

***

Round three of the white room. Only this time everything was dark. The sun no longer shone through the window. The dim shimmer of the moonlight peeked in and illuminated the man beside his bed. Steve. Bucky watched him for a long moment, part of him wanting to wake him solely to pull him onto the bed beside him and ease him out of the uncomfortable position he was posted in, slumped over the side of the bed with his arms beneath his head and the mattress acting as a pillow beneath his arms. But Steve was sound asleep, the first time he’d found him so in all of the times he’d awoke and Steve had been at his bedside. It reminded Bucky of himself so many years before, when their roles were reversed. That was so long ago.

He lightly ran a hand through blond locks then slowly moved off of the bed, taking care not to disturb Steve, and slipped into the bathroom. He freshened up then stared into the mirror at his reflection, almost not recognizing the man staring back him. It was a difference from the man in the mirror in Europe, when he’d finally started to gain some semblance of himself and recognized his face as his own, but his eyes still held the same confusion, same sadness. His life had been a series of stories and tall tales, lies and fictions he could no longer pick apart. And the one person he trusted to make sense of everything left out one of the most crucial parts of his biography.

Steve hurt him. He trusted him to guide his memory, jog it in places where Bucky couldn’t but he could. And Steve just led him astray. The only times Steve lied to him were futile attempts where he feigned being fine: writing off a building sinus infection as dust making him sneeze, continuing to do housework when he’d long before needed a break, pretending that he heard what Bucky said when more than half had fallen on an ear he lacked the ability to hear anything in, enduring debilitating stomach pain because he didn’t want to worry Bucky. All of those little lies that Bucky let him get away with without being confronted for years until the morning they were in their shared apartment and he woke up to find Steve unconscious on the floor. After that, he never lied to him again. They’d buried that bad habit. So Bucky thought.

“Bucky!”

Bucky flinched in surprise upon hearing the frantic scream in the other room and hurried from the bathroom as fast as he could move, nearly ramming into Steve as he exited and Steve was entering.

“You scared me. I thought you were gone,” Steve said. “You okay?”

Bucky stood face-to-face with him, seeing the strange mix of fear, concern, relief and care in his eyes all at once. Bucky lifted a hand to Steve’s chest and felt it rising and falling at a quickened pace due to his alarm seconds before.

“I’m here,” he said softly, blues still locked on blues and his hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart, as if that would relax him. It was so familiar.

 

_”I’m here, Steve - just calm down. Breathe,” Bucky spoke lowly to the man on the hallway floor across from him, his hand touching against Steve’s chest, just over his rapidly beating heart that was beating so fast it terrified Bucky. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that, but I’m right here. See? Right here. Not going anywhere, I was just in the kitchen.”_

_Steve tried to do as Bucky instructed, but Bucky couldn’t notice any change in the throbbing pace against his hand. In. This was bad and Bucky’s mind raced as it tried to formulate another relief. Out. Talking him down was failing for the first time. In. Just relax, Steve. Relax. Out. Breathe in, Steve. Breathe. Calm down. Breathe in, goddamnit._

_Steve’s hand moved up to Bucky’s on his chest and he grasped it, fingers wrapping around Bucky’s hand almost for dear life. It was a gesture of acknowledgment to Bucky’s presence and his ability to hear the other that Steve’s body wouldn’t let him speak aloud. Them being posted on the hallway floor at 3:00am was the result of another nightmare that’d become commonplace since Bucky returned from basic training, another dream of Bucky going off and never coming back only this time exacerbated by the fact that Bucky wasn’t there beside him when Steve woke up._

_“I’m here...”_

 

“Calm down,” he told him. “I’m right here.”

Bucky felt the relaxation settle in under his touch and saw Steve’s brows loosen from their worried furrow. Bucky pulled his hand away, fighting against the urge to continue touching him, caressing him, put hands everywhere he used to.

“Steve,” Bucky sighed, bringing up the elephant in the room. “Why would you do that? Do you understand how I have felt for months? I thought I was losing my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

“We shared a home, we planned for a future, we made love, Steve. You’ve experienced parts of me that I’ve never willingly given to anyone else. Do you even remember that?”

 

_It’d taken time, but a couple of months in, they’d finally found their new groove around the physical adjustments and it was good. It was better than good._

_“God, Steve,” Bucky moaned beneath the other, leaning into him and pressing kisses against Steve’s neck, lightly sucking at spots he knew the blue collar of his uniform would cover the next day._

_Bucky’s hands gripped at his hips, easing him further down until their hips were flush. Steve gasped and bit at his lower lip to avoid the scream he wanted to let out when he felt the other brush against that spot in him that set off sparks._

_“Right there...again,” he whispered against Bucky’s ear._

_Bringing his hips up, Bucky pulled Steve in more, and heard the whimper that escaped his throat, trying so hard not to alert the men in the tents nearby to their nighttime rendezvous. Steve always tried so hard and Bucky did everything he could to test just how quiet he could be. Maybe there was a part of Bucky that wanted them to be caught, have it out there in the open. Slipping a hand between them, he wrapped it around Steve’s hardened member and ran his thumb over the head. Steve buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder to stifle his sounds only to bite down on his shoulder when Bucky nudged at his hips again, drawing a yelp from Bucky._

_“Shh, you’ve gotta be quiet, Sergeant Barnes,” Steve teased, pressing kisses over the mark forming on Bucky’s shoulder._

_Rocking his hips against Bucky, Steve could feel his climax building. He arched into Bucky’s touch, shifting his position atop him. Steve quickened his hips, drawing out whispers and moans from the other that seemed to be getting louder by the second. He pressed a finger over Bucky’s lips, a smile crossing his face when the other simply kissed it but failed to actually take heed to his warning. Steve silenced Bucky with his lips, pressing them to his deeply. He felt his hands grip tighter at his hips, edging Steve down against him harder, bringing Steve further to-_

_“Oh god!”_

_Steve couldn’t hold back then at the wave of pleasure rushing over him and Bucky could feel the trembles running through his body. Bucky couldn’t keep quiet either as he filled the other, incoherent sounds consisting of strings of Steve’s name and nonexistent words pouring from his lips. Coming down, Steve laid his head on Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky tightened his arms around him, his hand moving against Steve’s side and fingertips brushing over the faint stretch marks there._

_“Stop,” Steve groaned in exasperation._

_“You really shouldn’t be embarrassed by them. You’ve got a pretty cool story for how you got them,” Bucky said and planted a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Besides, you know something else?”_

_“You’re about to be a total sap right now?”_

_Bucky chuckled lowly, “Yes, I am. Because your marks and everything else are all apart of you and so I love them because I love you. You shouldn’t ever be ashamed of any part of yourself.”_

_“You be ashamed of yourself for that. Too much sap at once,” Steve said playfully._

_He sat up on his elbows and looked at Bucky, blue eyes sparkling even in the darkness of the tent. Bucky could see the tiny smile that cross his face, faint dimple peeking through his cheek._

_“I love you,” he whispered. “All of you. Forever.”_

 

Forever.

“We had a life and it was good and we were happy and you chose to ignore that. Why, Steve?”

Steve looked ready to fall to pieces and Bucky watched him swallow back the tears he was trying so hard not to shed, try to maintain his composure. But then Bucky watched his brows shift and watched him break before him, and he felt his heart shatter at the sight.

**Don’t fall for it, Barnes.**

“You forgot me,” Steve’s voice cracked. “You came back and you weren’t yourself. When I found you the next time, you were better. But you didn’t hug me, you didn’t kiss me, you didn’t tell me you missed me. You’d forgotten everything about us. Then I just...I figured maybe you could focus on yourself for a change while you get better and live your life, and not have to worry about or think about me so I didn’t say anything,” Steve said. “For once, I wasn’t going to be a burden on you. You could put yourself first. Maybe find the love of your life, settle, be happy, carefree.”

He meant well and so Bucky struggled to be upset. His intentions were selfless albeit horribly misguided. And his reasons were so wrong.

**Barnes, he’s playing you again. _Winter, can you push aside your feelings about Steve for a second? Leave them be._ He should be dead. He’s ruined so much. If not for him, I- _Would still in control. But you’re not. And we’re better for it._**

“Bucky, I’m so sorry. When you didn’t remember us, I figured maybe it was for the best.”

“Why’d you lie? Why would you think that making up some fictional scumbag was for the best?”

“I didn’t make him up,” Steve mumbled. “I was talking about me. Seeing you function without me holding you back - when we talked, when I visited - you seemed so different, like you were finally finding yourself and figuring out everything about you that you never got the chance to before and the more I saw, the more I realized that you could do so much better than me. No more putting yourself second or worrying when I’m not around. You could just be...free. So I let you go.”

**Pathetic and self-depreciating. You sure know how to pick em, Barnes. _Shut it, Winter. Buck, we gotta forgive him. I know you understand his motivations - not wanting you stuck in the past._ He lied to you. Laid in bed next to you and lied to you, to your face. Doesn’t that hurt? _Stop! Bucky, don’t listen to him. Steve didn’t want to hurt us - you know that._ Barnes, he hurt you bad.**

Bucky wanted to scream, tell them to leave him alone. He was capable of thinking for himself. He didn’t need them. He didn’t ask for them. The back and forth in his head was so much, too much. He couldn’t even focus on Steve over the bickering. The fighting. The disagreements. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see the color of the flowers on the shelf. Everything was whites and grays and blacks. He couldn’t breathe. Too much.

**_Love is about forgiveness, Bucky._ Liar liar, pants on fire. _He loves you._ He lied to you, Barnes. _You love him._ He’s a burden. Let him go.**

No, Winter. You’re not in charge anymore. And Steve is not a burden.

 

_”You wanna tell me what happened at school today, James?”_

_“It really wasn’t my fault, Dad. This bully was pushing this little kid around so I punched him.”_

_“And so you had to stay after school. I sure hope that little kid appreciates what you did.”_

_“He drew me a picture. He’s a real good drawer.”_

_“No more fighting, James.”_

 

Not a burden.

 

_”You gotta go to school. Your dad’s gonna flip if he finds out you played hooky.”_

_Another illness. Another day home in bed for Steve. Another day alone while Sarah went to work. Another day of 8th grade missed._

_“If I go to school, who’s gonna take care of you?”_

_“Buck, you’re gonna be in so much trouble.”_

_“I ain’t telling if you don’t.”_

_“If I wasn’t so tired, I’d pinky promise you,” Steve smiled, his exhaustion evident in his eyes. “Thank you for staying.”_

 

Never a burden.

 

_”Barnes, do you know who’s out there? What you could get if you win this fight? You gonna just turn all that down?”_

_Bucky pulled off his gear, quickly changing into his casual wear. “Marky, I know. But. It’s Steve.”_

_“I bet if you asked Steve he wouldn’t want you to throw this opportunity away,” his boxing coach said, flashing him the newspaper article that announced the arrival of the important figure who would be in the audience that night. “You could set your future up here, kid.”_

_Bucky paused to look at him, but with a quick shake of his head, he was tying his shoes again and then standing with his bag to leave. Steve in the hospital was nothing new and Bucky had left him in the care of skilled doctors and nurses plenty of times to get in the ring, but this time it was imperative that Bucky not miss a beat by his side after hearing the words of the doctor on the other end of the phone line._ We don’t think he has long this time. _He could miss this opportunity. He would get other chances in the boxing world. He’d only get one chance to say goodbye._

 

Steve Rogers had never been a burden.

 

_Looking at his reflection in the mirror, Bucky didn’t recognize his own face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen it._

**You fucking moron. You really blew this for us this time. We were supposed to kill him - not save him. Now, we’re out here in who knows where in what time knows where with no money, no food, no home. All because of Mr. Star Spangled Boyfriend of yours. You fucked this up because of him. You are so fucking-**

_”SHUT UP! Stop talking! Stop screaming! Just shut up!”_

_**Bucky, calm down. He’s only trying to get in your head again.** _ ****

**I am his head. I’m the only one making any sense around here. Look at him, he knows I’m right. He’s really screwed us.**

_Bucky stared the reflection in the mirror, noticing the tears that’d begun to fall. “It’s not his fault. Not his fault I love him...”_

 

Love. It all came down to love. That simple. He fucking loved Steven Grant Rogers and had since he was 17. He felt his emotions running through him like a flood. There were no questions. He loved Steve and Steve had loved him. Love. That was the bottom line. Not missed opportunities. Not scoldings or punishments. Not skipping a chance to leave a war. Not death in an icy ravine. Everything Bucky did, he did out of love. Steve was never a burden - he was the love of his life. And love was what Bucky forgive.

Bucky placed his hand behind Steve’s head and pulled him in until their lips met. It was the kiss in the tent, the kiss the night before Bucky left for training, the kiss on the night they didn’t know would be their last together. Passionate, deep, taking all of the air out of his lungs. The contact lit a fire in him that brought back every memory Steve had concealed from him that hadn’t yet unearthed, every kiss and every touch, every word of adoration and every vow, every promise. He didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to let him go, but he had to. He had to -

“I love you.”

Steve was taken aback by the words he hadn’t heard from Bucky in decades. His shock joined the myriad of emotions Bucky read in blue eyes he wanted nothing more than to see sparkle again.

“They wiped you out and buried you so deep that I had to find you again. All my dreams have pointed to you, but nothing felt right and everything felt right, you know?” Bucky spoke softly, both his hands slipping to Steve’s middle where he wrapped his arms around him, letting his right move beneath the hem of Steve’s shirt to brush against his stomach, just wanting to feel him, skin-to-skin. “You are not a burden. I’ve found you now and I can’t lose you again, Steve. We need each other. Don’t let me go.”

Bucky rested his head against Steve’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. That was different too, but his warmth was the same. Bucky held onto him, lives of a million moments together racing through his head. He squeezed his limbs tighter around the other, eyes closing when he finally felt a kiss to his forehead. Bucky smiled, a genuine smile, feeling a sense of tranquility when he heard Steve whisper against his ear.

“I love you, Bucky. Can’t remember a day when I didn’t.”

Bucky looked back to him, eyes set on his. “Don’t ever lie to me like that again. Don’t shut me out and don’t let me go.” Steve nodded in response before Bucky pulled him back in for a quick peck to his lips. “I don’t want to settle with anyone else - you’re it for me. I can’t be alone for hundreds of years, now can I?”

He could see the realization dawn on Steve before the other pressed his forehead against Bucky’s and Bucky closed his eyes again with a shiver when his beard tickled his cheek. “I want forever with you.”

He wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and felt him flinch at the cool feeling that came from his left. He smiled at him apologetically before his lips found their way back to Steve’s and he peppered quick kisses there. Steve let his arms wrap arounds Bucky’s waist, pulling him in closer against his slightly larger frame.

“You know, I married you once when it meant nothing and I would gladly do it again now that it means something,” he said against Steve’s lips. “So I’m told.”

“I think,” Steve spoke between light pecks. “You’re asking me a question.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m giving you an order. Captain.”

“Fine,” Steve smiled, brushing his nose against Bucky’s lovingly. “But remember our promise.”

“Oh no,” Bucky pulled back slightly, though he remained in Steve’s arms. “We’re getting flowers. It’s gonna be like a fucking garden there.” Bucky laughed when Steve did and pressed a kiss to the other’s cheek, unable to get enough affection in that moment. “First, get Shuri in here.”

“What’s wrong? Do you need something?”

“Tell her I’m ready for the next phase,” He said. “It’s time to kill him.”

Steve stepped back then with wide eyes. “Whoa, hold on, Buck. What?”

***

The triggers didn’t work anymore. That’d been tested five times already before T’Challa and Steve stepped in to stop Shuri from pushing her luck. He hadn’t heard another voice in months. Not Winter. Not James. They were long gone. Shuri’s final treatment worked. Yet another serum - green because he’d told Shuri it was his favorite color - therapy and cognitive training and they were gone. Dead. He mentally had a tiny memorial service for James, saw him off like a hero. “Taps” and white flowers. Winter’s mental memorial saw him shipped off to a crematorium then his ashes tossed in a landfill. It was probably more than he deserved, but Bucky was feeling generous.

“Sergeant Barnes?” He turned from the mirror when he heard Shuri’s voice and she smiled at him. “Well, don’t you clean up nicely.”

“It’s just a suit.”

“And a shave and a shower. Miracles!”

“Oh stop,” Bucky laughed then glanced in the mirror again, adjusting the black neck tie then his jacket.

“Are you sure you’re ready? Just think about how slowly you two age. You know, you’re going to be tied down for...eons.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I guess not if you like him enough.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of alright. I’m okay with keeping him,” Bucky said playfully.

Shuri laughed, “Well, I wish you both the best of luck. I think you two can make it through eons...from what I have seen. And don’t forget, I have seen all the outtakes, deleted and bonus scenes.”

Bucky chuckled again then looked at her, pausing a beat before he spoke with sincerity.

“Thanks again, Shuri. You changed my life.”

“That was all you,” Shuri shook her head with a grin. “I just designed the serum and administered the serum and analyzed the data and created the fix and prepared the treatments-“

“But all me, huh?”

At the tail end of their shared laugh, she stood from the sofa she’d made herself comfortable on, giving him a hug. “So glad I could help. Now,” Shuri pulled away and clapped her hands. “LET’S HAVE A WEDDING!”

“Just a sec,” Bucky said then looked in his bag before feeling around in his pockets. “Damn,” he cursed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh,” he bit his lower lip. “I can’t remember what I did with Steve’s ring.”


	2. Epilogue: The End and the After

Bucky groaned at the sound of a cell phone chirping, the shrill beep pulling him from a peaceful sleep. He eased his eyes open. Well, one at least. Then there was another beep. Then another. Reaching to the side of the bed, he quickly grabbed the phone, catching a glimpse of the name flashing on the screen.

“Hello, Sam...of course it’s Bucky...” Bucky peeked over at the empty spot on the bed next to him. “Steve’s not here, probably taking another unnecessary morning run...you need him to what...no, no, no, he can’t do that...because he’s retired.”

Steve swiftly emerged from the bathroom, clad in a towel around his waist, obviously hearing Bucky’s end of the conversation with Sam. Bucky grinned up at him, ignoring Steve mouthing questions about the phone call.

“Yeah no, Sam...he can’t, I’m sorry. He’s retired and he’s also very, very busy right now.”

Bucky ended the call on Steve’s phone and motioned Steve over to their bed.

“I’m busy?” Steve chuckled as he followed his command, moving onto the bed and leaning in to kiss at Bucky’s lips.

“Very busy, I need just a moment of your time,” he returned the kisses, tugging him over on top of him as he laid against the pillows.

“Only a moment? Feeling selfless today, I see.”

“Well, we do have decades for many more moments.”

“You’re such a sap,” Steve smiled and kissed his lips again as Bucky pushed the towel away, spreading his legs beneath Steve so Steve could settle between them.

“Hundreds of years for more moments!” he grinned. “Forever.”

Lips against lips. Body against body. Heart and soul. Peace and quiet. No fighting. No struggling. A forever they could only have imagined in their dreams was reality. Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the end of this out of sorts little idea I came up with! Please leave some love and kudos if you liked it, a comment if you loved it. Either will be much appreciated it.


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